


Who I Really Am

by tjmystic



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Fuckbuddies, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: After surviving the explosion at Midland Circle, Matt reflects on how much he's lost and reminds himself of who he is in the most basic, physical way he knows how.





	Who I Really Am

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things to keep in mind while reading this:
> 
> 1) I did not watch Season 3 of Daredevil, nor did I finish Season 2 of Jessica Jones. Those of you who HAVE watched those seasons probably know why (i.e. they apparently sucked). As such, this probably bears no similarity to what actually happened after Matt woke up.
> 
> 2) Matt and Jessica aren't in love in this fic. Depending on where the inspiration takes me, though, I may have that happen in future works. For right now, they are teammates with mutual respect and a good understanding of how to get each other off.

Dying had been a thoroughly lackluster experience for Matt Murdock.

Granted, he hadn't really died.  Not if the nuns were to be believed.  But he'd come pretty close. 

There was no bright light at the end of the tunnel, no gold or silver or sunlight blinding him in the awe-inspiring presence of the Father.  There was darkness, no more or less or in any way different from usual, and a dull pain rocking through his whole body.  That was it. 

The only thing that happened as expected was that his life flashed before him.  Not before his eyes - obviously - but over his whole body.  The smell of the antiseptic he used to clean his dad's cuts.  The sound of ambulances and police sirens.  The taste of cheap liquor with Foggy and Karen.  The feeling of Elektra wrapped tight around him when she came. 

He thought about that last one more than he cared to admit.  Even now, newly resurrected and all - he had plenty of time to think about things while he was recuperating.  Every mistake, every person he couldn't save, every friendship (and there were only two) that he ruined.  None of it bothered him as much as Elektra.

He loved her, as much as he'd ever loved anything.  At least that one he could admit to himself.  But, likewise, he had to admit just how much she'd ruined him. 

That was what he thought about more than anything. 

After the first time she left him, after college, life was different.  Elektra had been his first, but she was far from the last.  Some women had a Mother Teresa complex and wanted him out of pity, a notch on their holier-than-thou bedpost.  Others had a kink for what they saw as easy submission.  A few genuinely kind women didn't care one way or the other – they just thought he was attractive, or kind, or interesting.  None of them were turned on by breaking and entering, stabbing, or blood. 

It wasn't lost on him how messed up he was for missing that. 

In that way, Elektra had been easy.  She dragged him to his knees.  He flipped her onto her back.  They fucked like wild animals and left scars and bruises everywhere.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  The first time he was with another woman, nearly four months after Elektra had vanished into the ether, he was so nervous and unsure of what to do with his body that he couldn't even get hard.

But, slowly, he started to learn.  Started to look for other ways to arouse, ones that didn't involve him getting into BDSM, which he honestly had no interest in.  Surprisingly, he turned out to be pretty good at it.  For most women, it seemed, sight wasn't nearly as important during sex as the other senses.  When a man could listen, and touch, and _taste_ … that was what they were really after.

He rarely bragged… alright, he bragged.  A lot.  But only to Foggy.  The fact of the matter, though, was that the techniques he'd developed after Elektra were appreciated pretty much across the board.

Those weren't the first techniques he wanted to test out after his "resurrection", though.  As always, he was otherwise preoccupied, first with healing, then with hunting.  He couldn't risk revealing himself, not yet – there was still so much unknown about the Hand, and the dragon, and… and Elektra. 

If she was still alive, if he knew for sure that she could still be out there, his decision would have been made for him.  And it was a horrible one.  He would have run off with her, consequences be damned, and him along with them.  That, more than anything, was why he found himself thinking so much about her.  Elektra wasn't just sex, or passion, or lust.  She was the darkness inside him, the reminder of who he really was when the lights turned out and all he had left were his bones.  She was who he could be if he just let go. 

Sex was a stupid way to save himself from that reminder, but it was what he had at his disposal.  God couldn't cleanse this wound.  God could never touch something so broken.

Revealing himself to anyone before he was back to 110% was homicidal to everyone involved, and he knew it.  He _knew_ it.  But, for the first time in his life, he had a reason to risk it.  His soul wasn't worth much in the grand scheme of things, that he was sure of, but after losing Elektra again, this third and (maybe) final time… well, it already felt like damnation.  He couldn't risk letting himself fall any deeper into that pit.  Whatever came back out wouldn't be him, and there wouldn't be any stopping it. 

Hell's Kitchen deserved better.

He didn't want a one-night-stand.  He didn't want a soulmate, either.  He just wanted someone he could get lost in.  Someone who could remind him what he was fighting for, not the devil he had to keep on lockdown in his soul.  Before all of this, before Elektra tangoed back into his life, he would've expected that solace to come from Claire.  Then, he would've expected it to come from Karen.  Neither came through.  And he refused to shove his shit back at them now that he was "dead" and they were free.

Without those two options, though, he didn't know who to turn to.  Not for this. 

At least, not until he swung back into Hell's Kitchen and felt a row of Turkey bottles lined up on a desk three windows up.

He didn't plan on Jessica.

 

 

 

On the other side of her desk, Jessica stared him straight in the eye. At least, that was where he assumed she was looking.  She hadn't moved or said anything at all since he stumbled into her office, costume scratched all to hell, and propositioned her.  He knew what she was thinking, though.  Part of it, anyway.  That this was coming out of nowhere.  That it had only been three weeks since he "died", and, so far, she was the only person who knew he was back.  That he was having some sort of mental breakdown.

Finally, she leaned forward and unscrewed the lid on her Jack Daniels.

"Well, you aren't drunk."

Matt sagged in relief.  "No, not drunk."

"And I'm not seeing any head injuries."

He chuckled.  She cocked an eyebrow at him – audible, a level of sarcasm that even he was impressed by – and poured herself a shot. 

"I thought you were with the blond chick at the paper?"

"No.  It's… complicated."

"And Undead Ninja Girl?"

He sighed, fingers moving to the bridge of his nose.  "More complicated." 

"That's what I thought."  Jessica grabbed the shot glass and stood to her feet.  "Look, I'm a lot of things, but I don't do cheating, and I don't do rebound.  Not after Luke."

"You're not a rebound.  And they both think I'm dead."

"Yeah, well, we both know you're not." 

He didn't have a response to that one.  Jessica scoffed and turned away.  He expected her to leave, but, instead, she grabbed another glass from the kitchen and slammed it down in front of him.  She poured him a shot of whiskey before he could ask. 

Wincing, he hefted himself forward and took the glass.  He downed it in one toss and slammed it back on the table for more.  He could tell by the sudden shift in her eyes, imperceptible if not for thin sound of a twitched muscle, that she was impressed. 

She poured him another, then crossed her arms. 

"Where the hell is this coming from, Matt?"        

For half a heartbeat, he considered being honest with her.  He pushed the idea aside before it could really take root, but, still, he considered it an accomplishment.  Just a few months, hell, a few _weeks_ ago, the thought never would have crossed his mind.  The fact that he saw honesty as an option, albeit one he wouldn't take, had to count for something. 

He swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, letting it coat his tongue, the back of his teeth, the line of fire up his throat, before speaking.

"We're a team, right?"

"And that means we should fuck?"

Matt laughed.  "Well, you got with Luke."

"Ancient history."  She poured herself another shot of Jack, threw it back without pause.  "And that's one out of three.  You don't see me barking up Glowy Hand's tree, do you?"

He smiled.  "No, but I'm pretty sure he's taken."

Jessica said nothing.  Matt licked his lips and tried again.

"I didn't mean that you should have sex with me as some sort of… team bonding exercise.  What I meant is that I trust you, and I hope you trust me, and I thought…"

His fingers found the glass.  This time, he didn't take a drink.  Instead, he ran his fingertips over the rim.  There was a chip in one side.  A wide crack down the other.  One bad fall and it would break.  But it was keeping itself together for now.  Strong enough to hold the whiskey.

He sighed, and turned his eyes as closely toward her as he could.  Maybe the truth wasn't such a bad idea.  Giving her part of it, anyway.

"Look, you don't bring out the… the good in me, but you don't bring out the devil, either.  You just bring out… me.  I don't even know if it's the real me, but it's all I've got right now.  It's all I have to hold onto.  I just need to know that that's real."

A vein thrummed in the side of her neck, just below her ear where the skin connected to her jaw.  That vein got a lot of mileage.  Where most people's irritated blood seemed to settle in lines of their forehead, the gap of their brow, Jessica's always pooled beside her nape.  He'd been able to figure that one out within a few minutes of knowing her - irritation seemed to be her default expression.  But in this moment, between pit-pats of rats scurrying on the roof and liquor sliding down the bottle, that sense of anger, annoyance, thrummed a little bit differently.  A little closer to frustration.  It was the beat that preceded a gasp of breath, a catch of air in the throat, a slick heat between the thighs.  This wasn't just anger.

He didn't know if it was desperate, wishful thinking or if this was something he genuinely knew about her.

She poured another shot, but didn't drink it.

"If you're looking for weekends in Paris, or whatever –"

"I'm not.  This is just a thing."

Jessica leaned back in her chair.  He heard the rustle of her hair as she shook her head, the flutter of her eyelashes as she rolled her eyes and laughed at him.  But he also heard the hitch in her heartbeat.  And the friction of her jeans as she pressed her thighs together. 

What he didn't hear was "no".

He was already smiling a split second before she jumped to her feet.

She sighed, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of Jack from the table.

"Whatever, I guess," she grumbled, jerking her head toward the front door.  "If we're doing this, I'm gonna need another bottle."

She made it two steps before he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"No more drinking."

"Fuck that," she snorted, lifting the bottle to her lips.  Before she could take a sip, he snatched it from her hand and twirled it into the corner.  It landed safely in the trash, not a drop spilled.

"Okay, if you start doing that with my liquor –"

"If we do this, you have to be sober.  I’m not taking advantage of you.  That's one of my conditions.  I have two."

"Wow, you really don't know how to negotiate, do you?"  She ripped her hand out of his grip and glared at him - he could tell by the sudden heat behind her eyes.  "And you're gonna have to stop interrupting me.  That's one of _my_ conditions."

He knew she was finished, but he waited a second just to prove that he was sincere.  "Understood."

She turned her head toward the trashcan, then groaned and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"Fine.  Whatever."

"Number two:  you have to be vocal.  I want to know everything you're thinking."

"What, you want me to tell you how 'good' you are?  Didn't realize you had a kink for ego trips.  I thought you were too Catholic for that."

"It's not about me." 

Her heart skipped a beat.  Around her, the air seemed to chill.

"What do you mean?

He couldn't give her a look - he wasn't even sure what the appropriate look would be in this given situation – but he knew that she understood.  She already knew exactly what he meant.  And it scared the hell out of her.

"I mean that this isn't all about me.  If I do something that you like, or something that you don't like, I want you to tell me.  Explicitly.  I don't want you going through the motions with me.  I want to know where you're at every step of the way."

Jessica swallowed.  And stared.  And swallowed again.  That beat in her jaw had returned with a vengeance, reminiscent of the hard staccato jarring of Jack Murdock's fists.  Matt almost let himself grin.  Almost.  At the end, it turned into the resigned sigh he'd been expecting all night.  Jessica would be fine giving him what _he_ wanted, needed, but for him to turn the tables on _her_?  She was too much of a martyr to allow it.

He wasn't nearly the most Catholic person in the room.  Not by a longshot.

He half turned, ready for her to shove him out the door.

And, then, her hand – completely bare, no glove – touched his face. 

She surprised him.  It had been a long time since anyone had managed that.

"Do I act like I have a problem telling you what I think?"

He licked his lips, then stood to his full height.  Her hand never left his cheek. 

"I guess not." 

She laughed – short, dry.  The feel of her breath against the hollow of his neck made his own pulse flutter.  She was shorter than Karen, and Claire.  Even shorter than Elektra.  Everyone else probably forgot how small she was, the power in her punches and the wall she built around herself too strong to see through.  But he could never forget.  Heavy as her footsteps were, they were always attached to those lean, lean legs, and a frame better suited for long-distance running than heavyweight championships.

His hands wound themselves around those narrow, angled hips.  Each bone, each muscle, each inch of skin called out to him beneath her jeans.  She wasn't wearing underwear.  And, as he'd expected, she preferred to go natural – a thatch of damp hair muffled the pulse of her before it hit against her pants.  A little moan left his lips – it'd been awhile since he'd gotten to taste anyone. 

Jessica traced her fingers up his arms, fingertips calloused but soft against his suit, and, then, she yanked him in.  His hips rammed into her waist.

"Nice and easy was never really my thing," she rasped.  "You wanna do this, then fucking do it."

That was all the invitation he needed.  One more deep breath, a shift to the side so his cock lined up with her belt loops, and he dove in.

She hadn’t been lying about “nice and easy”.  Jessica was all teeth with her kisses.  No tongue, barely any lips, just soft, nimble bites to any part of his mouth she could get to.  Much as his body begged for this, though, practically gagged for it, that was never his style.  He didn’t want to nibble her – he wanted to taste. 

Coffee.  Whiskey.  Two Listerine breath strips.  She hadn't brushed her teeth in almost two days. 

His smile broke their kiss.  In this, at least, she was exactly what he’d been expecting.  He loved every second of it. 

“Don’t know what you’re thinking, bat boy, but get back here.”

He chuckled, then dipped his head.  “Aye aye, Miss Jones.”

“Look, if you’re gonna be all – ”

He dipped his head and sucked the lobe of her ear between his lips.  Salty.  Sterile, like vodka.  A little acidic from where her shampoo had gotten caught and dried to her skin.  In this moment, he had to admit he’d been a snob.  He was used to perfume, and lotion, the little touches he’d come to associate with femininity.  Jessica wore none of them, and, on her, he didn’t want anything else.  She was real.  Maybe she was just as ashamed of herself as he was, but, unlike him, she made no effort to hide it.  Jessica was only ever Jessica.  And that was exactly how she tasted. 

Matt moaned at the same time she did, letting his tongue trace the crease where her ear touched her hair.  Her whole body shivered into him, hands clenching tighter on his shoulders, and he didn’t even care that she’d accidentally dug into one of his cuts.  His knee forced her legs apart, settling hard between her thighs, and she actually hissed when he rubbed up against her.  The heat of her jeans was pure friction on his mesh costume. 

“Damnit, Matt.” 

This time, _he_ yanked _her_ closer, letting her ride the muscle in his thigh as he jerked her forward.  Her head fell back as the seam of her jeans grazed her clit, and that was too much of an invitation to ignore.  Tongue first, he made his way down her jaw, licking and nipping and sucking until he touched the base of her chin.  He put aside his restraint, the moment of sick roiling in his stomach at the thought that he’d only ever done this with Elektra, then opened his mouth and bit, _hard_.  He felt her throat convulse against his teeth.

"I can't… fuck."

"You can't fuck?”  He pulled back, then nipped again.  “That might make tonight more difficult."

He expected her to snort, but the sound that pushed past his mouth was more like a groan. 

"Asshole."

His hand crept down her back, past the sweat sticking her tank top to her spine.  It lingered just a moment on her cheeks.  He slapped the flesh there before biting his fingers back into her hip. 

"Maybe we'll get to that next time."

Her whole body arched into him at that.  Her heartbeat, already a tertiary presence in the room, pounded through his chest. 

"You're already planning a next time?"

He nodded, planting another kiss on her neck.  She leaned back to let him.  "I said this was just a thing, not a one-time-only thing."

"Damn lawyers and semantics."

He hummed, but didn't stop.  The raging pulse between her breasts was begging to be tasted.

“I’m going to rip your shirt off,” he murmured.  “You have about five seconds.  Here, or the bedroom?”

She didn’t answer.  Not with words.  She didn’t let him do what he warned her about, either.  Before he could finish the sentence, she was pushing him to the wall with one hand and tearing off her shirt with the other.  He relished the light slap of her breasts against her ribs before letting her momentum carry him across the room.  He didn’t want to think about how predatory his grin had to look.  Skill and style were sexy.  Jessica had neither, but what she made up for it in strength… damn. 

Her feet, suddenly bare, padded across the floor, and he caught her just as she took a running leap.  Her thighs fit around his hips like a sausage casing, a second skin, and his head snapped back against the wall well before her lips fitted themselves against his neck in retribution.  A rip, shaky but solid, was the only warning he had before the cold, mildewy air hit his chest. 

He’d never fashioned himself a mindreader, but he could almost hear Jessica’s thoughts.  They felt astringent against his skin, the biting, “How’s this for an answer?” as audible as the snap of her teeth on his jugular.  But he also felt her hold back.  The “h” died as a gasp against his sweaty throat. 

It seemed they were both trying something new. 

“Here,” she panted.  “Just fuck me here, Matt.”

He didn’t ask if she was sure.  She trusted him enough to tell him – in turn, he had to trust that she’d tell him _everything_.

So, he nodded, brushed his hand up her bare skin to grab her hair, and spun to slam her against the wall.  She yelped, but she didn't complain.  Her nails tasted delicious biting into his scalp.

Matt pounded into her, their pants soaked and scratchy as his cock rubbed between her thighs, and they both cursed on the exhale.  The hand still on her hip clenched tight, the juxtaposition of her silk skin and worn jeans almost too much for him to handle. 

He pulled his neck, reveling the pop as her teeth scraped away, and pressed his forehead to hers.  It was too soft, too tender for her, and he knew it, but he couldn’t resist. 

“C’mon, Murdock.”  Her breath was hot on his face, but her voice was more a whimper than a growl.  She tempered it with a hand grip on his cock, rigid and sweating under his uniform.  She didn’t move her forehead from his.  He smirked.

“I’m not ready to cum just yet, Jess.”

He expected her to scoff at him, or at least smack him in the neck with her shoulder.  What she did instead was grab his hand, the one that had molded itself tenderly to the back of her neck, and shove it down the front of her jeans.  The button went flying into a distant corner of the room.  Her fly ripped past the seams.  Matt only noticed peripherally.  Everything in him was distracted by the perfectly sopping curls in his palm.

He didn’t need further explanation – they were well past that now, and Matt knew he was right in assuming that she wasn’t into foreplay – but, still, she shaped her tiny hand around his and curled his fingers up inside her.  Her breath hitched on a silent, “Fuck!”, and his eyes rolled back in his head.  He’d never felt anything this tight.

Her mouth slipped around his ear, her teeth sharp on his lobe.  Her fingers gripped his cock tighter.  “I said, come on.”

Pain blossomed into rapture, frustration into ecstasy.  He could smell the swell of his own blood pounding in his veins. 

That was it.

With a groan, he slipped his fingers from her cunt, both of them wincing from the sudden emptiness.  It didn’t last long, though.  A moment later, he yanked at his suit, too keyed up to care that they only fell to his knees instead of the floor.  It was enough to release his cock, and that was all he – and Jessica – needed.  Hand still wrapped around his base, she guided him through her curls, rubbed him once, twice, against her clit, then stuffed him inside. 

If he’d thought Jessica was tight around his fingers, it was nothing compared to how she felt around his cock.  They both moaned, breath caught where their mouths met, and Matt’s whole body spasmed, enough that his cock slid all the way in.  He cursed under his breath.  The walls of her cunt dug into him, the ridges inside smooth and soft and so, _so_ damp.  Then Jessica’s teeth sunk into his upper lip, her fingernails into his ass, and he stopped thinking altogether.  All he could do was jerk out, body aching from the dull pleasure, then pound back in.  Again.  And again.  And again.

Outside of this moment, he could remember one truth he had shared without coercion.  It was when he told Karen, all those months ago, that he’d give anything to see the sky one more time.  That was the truth.  But he would give just as much right now to see how Jessica looked around him. 

That wouldn’t make him magically capable of doing so, though.  So he focused on the things that he could do. 

He could push his hands to the wall beside her head, feel the vibrations through the thin sheetrock as she shook in his arms.  He could smell the musty, musky tang of her juices running down both their legs, sticking to the hair on his thighs and pooling in the bony crevices of hers.  He could taste his own blood where she’d bit too hard on his lip, feel the bruises blossoming on his shoulders where she gripped him too tight.

"Mur… Murdock… fuck, _Matt_!”

Oh, and that _sound_ , of his name in her throat… God, he heard that all the way in his bones. 

Her breasts slapped his sweat slick chest, nipples catching on the ridges of his muscles, and damn if that didn’t make her clench even tighter.  Later, he would wonder if her strength extended to the muscles inside of her, too, but, in that moment, all he knew was that she couldn’t be doing it by accident.  She knew exactly what she was doing with her body, with his, and his balls found solace bouncing against the flesh of her ass and thighs with every thrust. 

He wasn’t going to last.  Sex had always been good, but, by God, he’d almost forgotten _how_ good.  And besides that, he hadn’t fucked anyone, anything – even his own hand – in longer than he cared to admit.  She was going to milk him dry, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

One more jerk of his hips, and he was gone.  His balls tightened against her ass, cock going rigid inside her as he shot over and over into the wet silk of her flesh.  Beside him, her head thumped back against the wall, disappointment clear in every gasp.  He wouldn’t have left things there anyway, but that certainly sped up his timeframe.

He heaved, once, twice, then slid his cock from her body.  She squelched around him, silently demanding him to be still, and, if he hadn’t already cum, that would have done it.  He didn’t stop to savor the sensation, though – there were more important things on his mind.

With a low grunt, he dropped to his knees, lifting one of hers until she understood and wrapped it around his neck.  He could smell himself inside her, mixed with the simple heat of her own juices, and his mouth fucking watered.  Her tongue clicked across her teeth, vocal chords vibrating with the urge to speak, but he didn’t let her have it.  Just loud enough to be heard, he muttered,

“Just tell me if you like it.”

He waited.  Impatience and hunger tore at his gut, but he waited.  And, finally, something clicked.  She didn’t nod.  She didn’t touch his head.  With a single huff, an irritated gnash of her teeth, she answered, “Okay.”

Matt smirked and dove right in. 

His lips molded themselves around her clit, insistent and harsh, even as he used the index fingers of both hands to spread her pussy open for him.  She was already cumming, small but sure, and he felt it in the way her thighs thrummed beside his ears.  His grin widened, teeth showing against her sopping lips, before he licked her from front to back.  His cum tasted so much sweeter next to hers. 

“Matt… fuck, it… it’s good.”

He hummed, lips never leaving her clit, and when she repeated her last two words, they were a scream.  A growl bubbled up in his throat, pulsing past the cum and saliva that dripped down it, and he felt the echo of the vibration as he fed it into her pussy, licking his way inside until the tip of his tongue touched the nub just inside her.  Her whole body bent forward, but he hefted her higher up the wall, letting his fingers slip away if only he could feast on her more properly.  Jessica’s whole cunt throbbed.  She hadn’t stopped cumming. 

One hand braced on her thigh, he spread her legs wider, snaking his other up her calf, past her knee, into the gooey thatch of black hair above his nose.  Jessica hissed, overcome and shaking with it, but he kept going.  First, his thumb, brushing over the curls closest to her belly.  Then his middle finger, down, down, glossing over the nub at the top of her lips.  She gasped - a death rattle sound that he'd never found so comforting - and gripped the wall so tight that it splintered beneath her. 

“Matt, it – again – keep going or fucking stop, damnit.”

Her hand threaded through his hair, but he batted it aside, diving deeper between her thighs.  His tongue, his lips, were buried in her, licking and sucking each drop that he could get.  He still hadn't decided if he liked it, the strange mixture of Jack Daniels, sweat, and, oddly, irises, but he wasn't about to stop until he knew for sure.  In the meantime, he could enjoy how desperate she was for that last, toe-curling orgasm, the one he was building inside of her that would crack them both in two.  Buried tongue-deep, he fluttered over her flesh, giving her just enough to tease, to want.  He could hear the desperation in her heartbeat, in the way that the skin above her temples throbbed and burned with sweat.  She wanted this, needed it.  And she needed it from him.

He could have kept her there, straddled on his face and on the brink, for hours.  Probably.  Maybe.  But he never found out.  She was too dizzyingly beautiful, too damn delicious, and he had to know what she felt like falling apart.

 A single pinch to her clit, and she was done.  He felt it there when her pulse surged, mounted, flooding the muscles in her hips and thighs and ass.  He had only a split second to prepare before a strip of wet, molten juice dripped into his mouth, coating him all the way down to his chin.  Another, thicker and deeper, slid all the way down his throat.  His cock gave a feeble twitch, begging to cum again, and he allowed the pleasure to pulse through the rest of his body. 

It lasted like that for two minutes.  It felt like twenty hours. 

Heart pounding, he untangled Jessica’s legs from his shoulders and let them both slide to the floor.  The plaster under Jessica’s fingernails dropped with them, spiky and scratchy where it tumbled around their asses.  With the adrenaline, the pure pleasure, beginning to dissolve, Matt’s body felt rebroken.  His ribs burned, head throbbing nearly as much as his cock, but he didn’t care.  Jessica was satisfied, and, even if she hadn’t shouted it for him and the rest of her apartment building to hear, he would have felt it in the thrum of her veins. 

"Well…”  She panted, the word tacky and hoarse around her lips.  “If that's what you're like every time, being sober might not be so bad."

Matt laughed, then snuggled into the space below her breasts.  He froze a moment later, realizing what he’d done, where he was, and fully expecting the repercussions.  But she didn’t shove him away.  Much to his surprise, she didn’t even wiggle off.  She sighed, soft and exasperated, then threaded her fingers into his hair.  The words, “Don’t get used to this,” went unspoken.  Then again, maybe she never even thought them.  He didn’t know.  As he’d considered earlier, Jessica was probably the only human alive who had the ability to surprise him.  Even – and especially – when it came to circumspection.

Sometimes, who he was in the dark was just a shadow.  Less than a man, less than an idea, less than anything that he or anyone else deserved to have.  Sometimes, the reminder that that was all he had left stung like nothing else.

But maybe not tonight.


End file.
